I think my mom has given me the best advise ever whenever I'm in a slump.
I went to school, from elementary to highschool at STC, located at D. Tuazon, QC. Because of its proximity to Lourdes School, which was located alongside Retiro, it was considered by the ICM sisters (administrators of STC) to be our brother school... which means we were allowed to have a brother class from Lourdes... which means we were supposed to have parties with boys only from that class. This was fortunate for me because my brothers went to Lourdes School and that made my parents more lenient in allowing me to attend parties.
However, by the time I was old enough, and interested enough, to attend parties, my brothers were off to college and the bond between the students of STC and Lourdes school has waned. So we had parties with boys from Ateneo, independent parties held at a classmate's house and not sanctioned by the school or any of the sisters.
So one time I went to such a party. No, nothing went wild. We had punch but I think there was nothing in it but orange juice and grenadine syrup. The atmosphere was friendly and polite, almost timid. The only thing that was wild was probably the music and the way the show-offs were dancing. I never got to dance. There was this boy who spoke to me the whole night (The following morning, before the fiasco happened, some girls were teasing me... 'Uuy, si Jet, binakuran nung Sabado sa party.') and for some reason, he wasn't keen on dancing. So we spent the entire evening (or the part of it that I managed to spend at the party) at the porch, talking.
My dad was supposed to pick me up at 12 (yeah, yeah... Cinderella baby) but surprise surprise, he arrived 30 minutes earlier... and found the boy and me all by ourselves at the porch where we were sitting in semi-darkness, talking. My dad was furious. He asked me why we 'were sitting outside when the party was happening inside the house. And who the hell is this boy anyway? Is he from Lourdes School?'
I wanted to tell him that we were talking and were staying out cause the music was so loud we couldn't hear each other. But if you know how formidable my dad is when he's angry, you would understand how I seemed to have lost my tongue just then. I only managed to cough out the boy's name. I didn't think much about his question regarding the boy's alma mater... maybe I should have, though. The following Monday morning, my dad went to Lourdes School to look for the class (and its advisor) that had a party with our class the previous Saturday night. Of course his search would be in vain. And because my father's sons were both alumni of Lourdes School, the fathers there opted to help him out and got in touch with the sisters of STC, who got in touch with our class advisor, who got in touch with our class president... who got in touch with me.
It was so freaking embarrassing!... to be known in the whole batch as the girl whose father blew the whistle because he was totally clueless about what was going on. Not that anybody bore any grudge against me... except maybe those who had boyfriends in that Atenean class. After that mess, the sisters decided we thought we were being clever and resolved to tighten the reins as far as parties were concerned.
I was beside myself with shame. I would have changed schools but I didn't want to adjust to another school with a totally different atmosphere for my junior year. There was nothing to do but to keep going to the same school and meet the same girls day after day.
Thinking that if I gave it time the whole thing was going to blow over, I feigned illness. My mom wouldn't hear of it. The thing is, she's a teacher herself and she's got my tactic listed in her book. I never knew if my dad told her about what happened, but logically he would have. She never asked me about it though and I was too embarrassed as it was to tell her.
She sat down on my bed and told me gently, 'You're not sick and you know it. Look, whatever it is, 10 years from now you'll be laughing about it... if you wouldn't have forgotten it yet after the next party.'
That night, my mom slept on my bed, with me clinging to her for dear life. The following morning, she woke me up in time for school.
I've survived that incident for two decades now (yes, two decades... we're talking about full decades here, not those that are just nearly finished) and I never forgot what my mom told me. Whenever I'm in a slump, I just wait for the next party.
I went to school, from elementary to highschool at STC, located at D. Tuazon, QC. Because of its proximity to Lourdes School, which was located alongside Retiro, it was considered by the ICM sisters (administrators of STC) to be our brother school... which means we were allowed to have a brother class from Lourdes... which means we were supposed to have parties with boys only from that class. This was fortunate for me because my brothers went to Lourdes School and that made my parents more lenient in allowing me to attend parties.
However, by the time I was old enough, and interested enough, to attend parties, my brothers were off to college and the bond between the students of STC and Lourdes school has waned. So we had parties with boys from Ateneo, independent parties held at a classmate's house and not sanctioned by the school or any of the sisters.
So one time I went to such a party. No, nothing went wild. We had punch but I think there was nothing in it but orange juice and grenadine syrup. The atmosphere was friendly and polite, almost timid. The only thing that was wild was probably the music and the way the show-offs were dancing. I never got to dance. There was this boy who spoke to me the whole night (The following morning, before the fiasco happened, some girls were teasing me... 'Uuy, si Jet, binakuran nung Sabado sa party.') and for some reason, he wasn't keen on dancing. So we spent the entire evening (or the part of it that I managed to spend at the party) at the porch, talking.
My dad was supposed to pick me up at 12 (yeah, yeah... Cinderella baby) but surprise surprise, he arrived 30 minutes earlier... and found the boy and me all by ourselves at the porch where we were sitting in semi-darkness, talking. My dad was furious. He asked me why we 'were sitting outside when the party was happening inside the house. And who the hell is this boy anyway? Is he from Lourdes School?'
I wanted to tell him that we were talking and were staying out cause the music was so loud we couldn't hear each other. But if you know how formidable my dad is when he's angry, you would understand how I seemed to have lost my tongue just then. I only managed to cough out the boy's name. I didn't think much about his question regarding the boy's alma mater... maybe I should have, though. The following Monday morning, my dad went to Lourdes School to look for the class (and its advisor) that had a party with our class the previous Saturday night. Of course his search would be in vain. And because my father's sons were both alumni of Lourdes School, the fathers there opted to help him out and got in touch with the sisters of STC, who got in touch with our class advisor, who got in touch with our class president... who got in touch with me.
It was so freaking embarrassing!... to be known in the whole batch as the girl whose father blew the whistle because he was totally clueless about what was going on. Not that anybody bore any grudge against me... except maybe those who had boyfriends in that Atenean class. After that mess, the sisters decided we thought we were being clever and resolved to tighten the reins as far as parties were concerned.
I was beside myself with shame. I would have changed schools but I didn't want to adjust to another school with a totally different atmosphere for my junior year. There was nothing to do but to keep going to the same school and meet the same girls day after day.
Thinking that if I gave it time the whole thing was going to blow over, I feigned illness. My mom wouldn't hear of it. The thing is, she's a teacher herself and she's got my tactic listed in her book. I never knew if my dad told her about what happened, but logically he would have. She never asked me about it though and I was too embarrassed as it was to tell her.
She sat down on my bed and told me gently, 'You're not sick and you know it. Look, whatever it is, 10 years from now you'll be laughing about it... if you wouldn't have forgotten it yet after the next party.'
That night, my mom slept on my bed, with me clinging to her for dear life. The following morning, she woke me up in time for school.
I've survived that incident for two decades now (yes, two decades... we're talking about full decades here, not those that are just nearly finished) and I never forgot what my mom told me. Whenever I'm in a slump, I just wait for the next party.
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